Heavy Metal
by Quill of Avon
Summary: Their home destroyed, their lives in ruins, their memories never forgotten. In the midst of war and the light of hope fading further and further away, all they have left to live for is each other. OC/OC  TF:ROTF-verse


**Hello! This is the first fanfic that I've submitted (ever) to . Character bios are on my profile!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the material used except for the two original characters and the deviations from the plot. Thank you.**

**Chapter 1: Girl and Machine**

The stench of petroleum lingered in the thick atmosphere of the small mechanics' shop. A broken down truck parked in the poor excuse for a garage rumbled and groaned as a young woman fought with the machinery under its hood, which had seen better years.

Wiping her forehead, and at the same time accidentally smudging grease and oil on her face and the rims of her glasses, the woman lightly hit the broken part in frustration then noticed a small piece of metal protruding in a way that would interfere with its function. Poking it lightly to determine how it should fit, she barked out to the back room, "WRENCH!"

A flying iron wrench flew her way and she caught it before it collided with the back of her head. She took a few minutes tinkering around under the hood of the old truck and tightened a good few loose bolts. She started up the car and to her relief, the sputtering rumble of an engine met her ears. Gleefully, she glided to the wired telephone in the small office in the back.

Two red eyes calmly watched her fingers press numbers on a pad and lift the phone to her ear as she waited for the customer to respond.

"Hello?"

She flipped the phone so that the speaker met her ear and the microphone was

closer to her mouth. _I'll never get used to these primitive contraptions!_

Ignoring the low chuckle from the other side of the room, she put on a fake

cheery tone and informed the man on the other line that his car was ready to be picked up. With a happy promise to be there within fifteen minutes, the young woman hung up and let out a satisfied sigh. She leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor as a metal claw offered the remaining contents of a can of regular petroleum oil from a nearby gas station. She declined and he shrugged to himself, and finished the remains in one gulp. Making a face, he threw it across the room where it clanged against the wall.

"Not quite the same as energon, huh?"

The figure hidden in the shadowed corner to her right shifted its optics toward her then narrowed on the can across the small, gray room with only one dirty window that allowed little light to pass through.

"It's all there is here. It's primitive, but it will allow us to survive on our own until we attain a means to process this energy further."

"I thought you knew how to process energon?"

"With the right tools!" he shouted defiantly.

The young woman rolled her eyes as he began to explain to her in expressive detail about the quixotic plan he had for the future.

"...and all I need is you to help me find the parts and then we won't starve!" he proclaimed triumphantly.

"I'm a sharpshooter with limited knowledge on mechanics, not a treasure hunter!" she replied with a huff. She stood up and attended the client, who handed her a $20 bill, then drove away as she grumbled about how he didn't even tip her.

She angrily shoved the money into the small shop safe making a grand total of $70 for the week. She threw a screwdriver against the wall crying incoherent words along the lines of "life back home was a thousand times better than this place."

From the shadows came a metal humanoid, six feet tall and eyes blazing red flames. His body was black with small accents of navy blue on the outer armor and twitching behind him, there was a curious-looking extended electrical cord that served as a tail. He placed a sharp hand on the woman's bare shoulder and she spun around to meet his stern eyes with her wet ones.

"We never should have left," she said in a small voice, "I understand the circumstances, but resources are depleting fast."

"Would you like me to locate the Autobots? Their leader sent a message for others to find refuge with them and the coordinates to their location, which I received due to my neutrality."

"NO," she snapped.

He backed away from her outburst and began tinkering with bits of scrap metal from around the room. Suddenly, an Autobot signature became known to him nearby, but he immediately thought against alerting his partner, who might accidentally reveal their presence to the world with her short temper, though he will admit that her anger is righteous.

The building shuddered as a car parked in front of it, and a wiry teenager stepped out.

"Hi, I was hoping if you could fix my car, I had an accident recently and there are some dents the other mechanic couldn't hammer out."

_"Lies,"_ thought the robot in the back, "_he was just too scared of what the notorious Autobot medic would do after he got in trouble again so he wanted to cover it up here."_

The woman surveyed the damage and nodded her head, dismissing the boy and telling him she'll call him when she is finished. He gave her his number and walked off.

She pulled out a heavy toolbox with ease and fished around for a hammer. When she looked behind her, the car seemed to be a few feet away from where it was supposed to be.

_Well that's funny,_

She hammered down the dents on the hood, luckily they weren't too bad, but she was very surprised when the car seemed to groan in pain whenever her hammer hit the more sensitive metal underneath.

She heard snickering from the back room, but decided to ignore her partner and continue working. Judging on the condition of the car, and the strange noises it was making, she decided to check if the engine was working. She entered the car and put in the key to start the engine when a small red symbol caught her brown eyes.

She almost ripped the door off the poor Camaro as she screamed for her partner's assistance. The smaller metal being sprang into action and stood between his charge and the vehicle. Upon the robot's arm, protruding from the black paint job, was a faded and scratched-out purple insignia.

The Camaro transformed into a yellow 16 foot robot, with door-wings on his shoulders and wide cerulean eyes. Although crouched so he can fit into the garage, he loaded his cannons and pointed them straight at the Decepticon male.

"I mean no harm Autobot," his calm gaze met the nervous glance of the female behind him, "My name is Discharge, aligned with no side, and the follower of no leader."

His stern and serious gaze turned kinder, and he gestured towards the human behind him.

"This is my charge—"

"Victoire de la Croix," she interrupted.

"She is referred to as 'Vista' for her sharp eyes. She has quite the eye for detail, hasn't she?"

Bumblebee had to admit that the work she did repairing the dents was exceptional. The work hardly took any time at all, and the results were so good that Ratchet probably wouldn't notice them.

"I actually wanted to talk to your leader, Scout."

Bumblebee tilted his head and beeped curiously.

Victoire—or Vista—explained that they were low on resources and maybe the Autobots could better take care of Cybertronians. Bumblebee gave a few wary clicks and hesitated to call Optimus. Was this worth the trouble? The Autobots needed all the help they could get, and with their race slowly dying out, they have to save all the lives they could.

After a few moments of silence as Bumblebee privately commed Optimus, then gave a confirming beep when Optimus gave him the OK to let the neutral and his charge see him. He transformed back into a Camaro and opened the door for them.

"OH, no," Vista refused, "I'm calling Sam so he can pay me for my work and pick you up first. The budget's got to come from somewhere,"

Chuckling, Discharge whispered over to Bee, "She isn't a big fan of enclosed spaces—"a stapler promptly collided with the back of his head.

"I heard that."

Discharge winced as he put his hand to the back of his head and felt that the collision formed a dent and would have to be hammered out. Turning to Bumblebee, he suggested that he be given coordinates to the base so that he and Vista could walk there with their own time, and that she probably needed the exercise anyway. The chunky female in question promptly threw the hole-puncher from the desk at him as well.

Once Sam arrived, Vista got her $25 (with an extra $5 tip!) for her work. She cheerfully waved goodbye as Sam drove off with Bumblebee. She danced around the garage with the $30 in her hands but was interrupted by Discharge, who slung her over his shoulder and deposited her onto the cheap mattress that was all they could afford as a bed.

"We're going to Optimus tomorrow, so I need you bright and awake." She made a face and cut in, "I thought I told you not to get the Autobots!"

"Dearest, I did not seek them, they found us."

She huffed and turned so that she faced the wall and her back was to him. He took a seat on the floor next to the matress, he plugged his tail into the wall and shut off his optics to conserve what little energy was left in his system.

**And thus concludes the first chapter and sample of what I can write. Reviews are greatly appreciated and feedback and constructive criticism will be put into consideration. Any flames will be used to bake cookies for the non-flamers (:**

**-Quill of Avon**


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